Sophia Margaret snatched the wedding ring away.
“Sophia Margaret, you have no right to speak to us like this!” Emily shot up from her seat, her cheeks burning with indignation. “Oliver and I are adultswe decide how we live!”
“Adults?” The elderly woman curled her lip in disdain. “More like children playing house! Renting a flat, no car between you, wages barely enough to cover beans on toast. And you talk of having a baby?”
Oliver sat with his head bowed, as if wishing himself invisible in the clash between his wife and mother. What began as a civil family dinner had once more turned into a battlefield.
“Mum, we were just sharing our plans,” he finally interjected. “Were not asking for money.”
“As if youd dare!” Sophia Margaret threw her hands up. “Barely keeping your heads above water, yet youre ready to bring a child into this? Wholl feed it? Clothe it? Pay for its schooling?”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. Three years of marriage, and every visit to her mother-in-law was a trial. Every decision dissected, every step judged. But today, Sophia Margaret had outdone herself.
“Well manage,” Emily said quietly, fighting the tremor in her voice. “We wont be the first or last to raise a child in a rented flat.”
“Oh, of course youll manage!” Her tone turned venomous. “Especially when your solution to every problem is flogging something valuable. Why not sell your parents house, eh? Just sitting empty, as I recall.”
The words struck like a blow. Emilys parents had died in a car crash three years prior, leaving her a modest two-bed terrace in Croydon. Shed refused to sell, despite their strugglesit was the last thread tying her to them.
“Mum!” Oliver stood abruptly. “Thats out of line.”
“Whats out of line?” Sophia Margaret blinked innocently. “Im simply stating facts. Or have you forgotten how she sold her grandmothers gold earrings to fund your honeymoon? Such recklessness!”
Emily clenched her jaw. Yes, shed sold themher choice, her sacrifice. But that week in Cornwall had been worth every penny: just the two of them, away from prying eyes and unsolicited advice.
“We should go,” Emily said, gathering her handbag. “Thank you for dinner, Sophia Margaret.”
“Running off already?” Her mother-in-law tutted. “But I made bread-and-butter puddingOlivers favourite.”
“Another time,” Emily said firmly, fighting back tears.
In the hallway, as Oliver helped her into her coat, Sophia Margaret suddenly called out:
“Emily, dearlet me see your wedding ring. Its been ages.”
Emily frowned but extended her hand, the slim gold band glinting on her finger.
“No, take it off,” Sophia Margaret insisted. “I want to check the hallmark.”
Reluctantly, Emily slipped it off. Sophia Margaret examined it, then clenched it in her palm.
“This was my mothers,” she said coldly. “A family heirloom. I gave it to Oliver for the proposal, but clearly, that was a mistake.”
“What?” Emilys stomach dropped. “Oliver, tell her”
But Oliver stood frozen, eyes darting between them.
“Mum, give it back,” he finally rasped. “Its Emilys now.”
“No, darling.” She pocketed the ring. “Heirlooms stay in the family. Ill give it to the bride who truly belongsnot one who thinks only of herself.”
Tears spilled down Emilys cheeks. Three years of bending over backwards, three years of biting her tongue. And nowthis.
“Oliver,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Say something.”
Pale and lost, he stammered, “Mum, pleasethis isnt right.”
“Not right?” She laughed. “Whats not right is a wife turning a son against his mother. Dragging him into poverty when he could live properly at home. Putting ideas of babies in his head when you cant afford a goldfish!”
“Enough!” Emilys fear dissolved into white-hot rage. “Oliver, Im leaving. Now. Choosecome with me or stay.”
She flung the door open without looking back. Her pulse roared in her ears. Was this the end? Would their marriage shatter against his mothers iron will?
Oliver caught her on the stairs, grabbing her wrist.
“Emily, wait! Dont be rash.”
“Rash?” She whirled on him. “Your mother just stole my wedding ring! The symbol of our vows! And you stood there mumbling about whats not right!”
“I was stunned,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “You know how she is. Shell calm down.”
“Its not about the ring,” Emily said. “Its that she doesnt respect me, our marriage, or even you. And you let her.”
Outside, the October drizzle clung to them like a shroud. Emily huddled into her coat as they waited for the bus.
Their rented flat was a thirty-minute ride awaya cramped one-bed on the top floor of a pebbledash tower block, overlooking the railway tracks. But to Emily, it was home. Theirs.
The bus ride passed in silence. Emily traced raindrops on the window, her bare finger feeling strangely weightless. Shed never removed that ringnot for dishes, not for showers.
At home, Oliver flicked the kettle on while Emily sank onto the sofa, knees drawn to her chest.
“Em,” he began, touching her shoulder. “Ill fix this. Ill get the ring back tomorrow.”
“And if she refuses?”
“She wont,” he said, too quickly. “And if she does… well buy a new one. A better one.”
“Its not about the ring,” she repeated. “Its that every visit to your mother makes me feel like an intruder. Like Im temporary. And todaythat was the last straw.”
Oliver sighed. “Shes just… set in her ways. She loves me.”
“Love doesnt control,” Emily said. “She cant accept that youve grown up.”
The kettle clicked off, unnoticed.
“Ill talk to her,” he said finally. “Properly this time.”
“Youve said that before.”
“This times different.” He took her hands. “I promise.”
Emily wanted to believe him. But something had fractured when Sophia Margaret took that ringlike the last shield around their fragile little family had crumbled.
That night, she lay awake, thumb circling the ghost of her ring. Every cruel word replayed in her mindevery moment Oliver couldve defended her but didnt.
At dawn, as he dressed for work, Emily sat at the kitchen table with tea.
“Ill leave early, go to Mums,” he said, kissing her hair. “Ill have the ring by tonight.”
She nodded, unconvinced.
The workday crawled. At the accounting firm, she misfiled invoices, earning a sharp look from her manager. Colleagues glanced at her bare finger but mercifully stayed silent.
That evening, Oliver sat at the kitchen table, hollow-eyed.
“Well?” she asked, though his face said it all.
“She wont give it back,” he muttered. “Says its final.”
Emily sat slowly. “And what did you say?”
“I told her it wasnt fair, that it was yours.” He rubbed his face. “We rowed. Badly.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” He spread his hands. “She wont budge. Says shell return it only when shes sure our marriage is solid and” He hesitated.
“And what?”
“And that you wont… pull me away from the family.”
Emily stared. Three years of trying, three years of patienceand this was her reward? Branded some homewrecker stealing her own husband?
“Oliver,” she said quietly, “I think we need to talk.”
He nodded, still avoiding her gaze.
“I cant do this anymore,” she continued. “This isnt about a ring. Its about respect. Your mother doesnt see me as family.”
“Shes old-fashioned,” he argued weakly. “Give her time”
“Three years isnt enough?” Emily shook her head. “How many more years must I beg for approval?”
“You shouldnt have to,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “I love you. Thats all that matters.”
“If it were,” she said bitterly, “you wouldnt let her treat me this way. Youd defend usour family.”
The silence thickened. Rain tapped the window like a ticking clock.
“What are you saying?” Oliver asked at last.
Emily took a breath. The decision, forming all day, crystallised.
“I think we need space. Time to decide what we truly want from this marriage.”
“Youyou want to split up?” His voice cracked.
“I want clarity,” she said. “To know if theres a future, or if your mother will always stand between us.”
“She doesnt!” he cried. “Its just a rough patch”
“A three-year rough patch?” Emily stood, retrieving a weekend bag from the closet. “No, Oliver. This is our life. And I wont spend it proving my worth to her.”
“Where are you going?” Panic edged his words.
“To Gemmas. I need to think. So do you.”
“Emily, please,” he grabbed her hands. “One more chance. Ill make her understand”
“Actions, not words,” she said softly, pulling free. “Thats what matters now.”
She zipped the bag, avoiding his tear-filled eyesthe first shed seen him cry in three years.
“One chance,” she relented. “But I still need space.”
He nodded, swiping at his cheeks. “Ill prove our family comes first. I swear.”
At the door, she turned.
“You know what hurts most? Not that she took the ring. That she thinks Im unworthy of your familys legacy. Like Im just… passing through your life.”
“Thats not true,” he said fiercely. “Ill prove it. To both of you.”
She forced a smile and stepped out.
The drizzle had turned to proper rain. She hunched into her coat, the bus stop lights blurring. Her finger still felt naked, but now it signalled not loss, but possibility.
The bus arrived swiftly. As Londons glow streaked the wet windows, her phone buzzed. Olivers text:
*Ill fix this. I promise. I love you.*
She didnt reply. Words meant little now. Only actions could mend what was broken. And shed give him this one last chanceto prove their love was stronger than interference. Even interference as cruel as a stolen wedding ring.
